


Phantom

by Tobyaudax



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:20:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tobyaudax/pseuds/Tobyaudax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A semi-alternate universe, post-Cell Games. Gohan works on coming to terms with two kinds of loss and dealing with the consequences of his actions (or rather, lack of action). </p>
<p>This was written for my best friend for her birthday. One of these years, I'm going to write her something upbeat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantom

His arm was itchy- it felt like hundreds of tiny bugs were crawling up, down and running in circles just under his skin. It was too early to get up, so Gohan kept his eyes closed against the first rays of the sun sneaking through his window. It was Sunday, the one day his mother let him sleep in and take a break from his studies. He used to look forward to that- it used to be his favourite day of the week. Now, it was time to think he didn’t want or need. He had his right arm halfway across his body, in pursuit of the meddlesome itch, before he remembered there would be nothing there to scratch.

“Phantom limb” the doctor had called it. Gohan had heard of the condition- he’d started a basic neurology text just before the Cell Games. It seemed like so long ago, but he knew less than a month had passed since Cell was defeated… since his father had died. Those thoughts were dangerous, especially when he was alone, so with a resigned sigh, Gohan levered himself out of bed. His mom would get up in an hour or so, conditioned over the years to rise at dawn and cook a meal that was now too large for the both of them. Gohan had charged himself with capsulizing the leftovers a few times a week and distributing them to their friends- Krillin and the Kame House residents; Bulma, Vegeta and little Trunks and out to Yamcha’s place near the desert. He’d visited Tien and Chaotzu once, but they’d politely declined any future feasts.

ChiChi had tried to deliver it all herself, at first, but the sight of all the food after it was prepared sent her crying to her and Gokuu’s room and left Gohan to figure out the best way for a one-armed boy to carry so much. He’d come up with the Capsule method but the only dynocaps he had were for his educational and study supplies. He’d been given ones designed specifically for food after Vegeta complained about pencil-flavoured dumplings. Bulma was more than happy to trade him the little devices in exchange for ChiChi’s cooking, though Gohan had felt bad about just taking them. He commiserated by only accepting enough for each person to whom he took food- reusing them so nothing was ever wasted.

He stood at his desk and watched the sun push against the sky with a shimmering bubble of heat- another blistering summer day was ahead of him. When it was light enough to see his room clearly, Gohan got dressed. After the operation and when he’d finally calmed his mother down over the loss of his arm, he began practicing as many of his daily activities as he could with the remaining one. He was already right-handed, so his writing wouldn’t suffer. He had to work harder on getting his clothes and shoes on by himself. It was frustrating at times, but he had no intention of burdening his mother with something so simple. Fortunately, Gohan had always been a quick learner.

They- his friends and the doctors- had thought they could save at least part of his left arm when he’d first been admitted to the hospital, but it had been too badly damaged and left untreated for too long. His shoulder joint and clavicle remained intact but he had had to undergo a shoulder disarticulation, removing the entire arm. The very first challenge he’d faced was finding his balance, though that was accomplished quickly enough since he’d had to adjust to his missing tail more than once. The physical changes, the new ways to move and perform mundane tasks, were simple when compared with what he had to deal with mentally.

It was easy when he had something to distract himself- tying his sneakers with one hand or fastening the buttons on those shirts that had them demanded a level of focus he was more than happy to give. But as he learned to live without the arm, he was more and more reminded of its absence. Little things like reaching for something on his left side would enrage him and it took all his self-control not to ascend to Super Saiyan 2. He would wake up in the middle of the night, feeling like the arm was asleep, that it was still there and he’d laid on it for too long. And any time he had to look at himself without a shirt on, he was brought to tears. It didn’t hurt him physically, but emotionally it was like a blow to his stomach. Sometimes he couldn’t breathe when he thought about it for too long, sometimes he got so angry he had to immediately fly out of the house and find something to destroy. Talking about it, about the true cause of his inner anguish, wasn’t an option- no one else could possibly understand and he didn’t want to burden them with it, anyway.

So he did what he could to put it out of his mind, which also meant he had to avoid seeing the scar as often as possible. In the winter and autumn months his sleeves were long enough to be tied into a knot, keeping the angry, red line stretching over part of his chest and around to his side out of sight. But in spring and summer, he had to come up with another way to hide it. Most of the warm weather shirts he had were made with wider, shorter sleeves, so he took to wearing a lightweight, long-sleeved undershirt and used the length of extra fabric for the knot. As much as ChiChi loved and would always love him, no matter what, she had a difficult time being reminded of what had happened to him, so Gohan made sure she never saw him in any state of undress. He wasn’t fond of seeing the scar, either- it was a glaring badge dedicated to his failure.

Shaking his head to banish such negative thoughts, he headed downstairs to enjoy the last cool part of the day before sundown. Once in the hallway, though, he could hear the faint sounds of pots and pans and, as he crept down the stairs, a variety of cooking noises chased breakfast scents up to meet him.  _How long has she been awake?_  Gohan stopped just outside the doorway into the kitchen, watching his mother at the stove. She was still in her pajamas but had thrown an apron on over the lightweight nightgown. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, the long pieces that usually framed her face clipped up on the sides. She was glowing with sweat and her bangs were plastered to her forehead but she didn’t seem to mind the kitchen heat.

She must have been cooking for more than an hour- two kinds of bread were on the table, along with a stack of dumplings and a bowl full of fluffy scrambled eggs. Four pots bubbled and gurgled on the burners. The little egg timer went off and ChiChi immediately bent to open the oven door, one hand still stirring the largest pot as she carefully removed a pan with a roast on it. Gohan waited until she’d set the meat down before clearing his throat. She stopped stirring for a second, her shoulders almost imperceptibly tensed and then she relaxed.

“What’re you doin’ up?” She spoke quietly, as though someone, somewhere in the house were still asleep and she didn’t want to wake them.

“I couldn’t sleep in- it’s gonna get too hot.” Even though her back was to him, Gohan resisted the urge to scratch the knot at his shoulder- the action was threatening to become a nervous habit but he wouldn’t let it take hold.

“That’s summer for ya,” ChiChi chuckled, glancing back at him. She was smiling, but her eyes were damp. He knew what had woken her up so early. He must have looked too long because she blushed and turned quickly back to the stovetop, her arm working faster at the huge batch of porridge. Gohan bit his lip against an apology- it was best not to say anything because he never knew what to say, what he  _could_  say to help her feel better. He took a seat at the table and plucked a warm sweet roll from the top of the pile, devouring it in three bites.

“Hey now,” she scolded, never turning away from the stove. “Chew yer food young man!” There was laughter in her voice, at least. He wondered how she always knew when he ate too fast when she wasn’t even looking- maybe he needed to work on being quieter or maybe it was just one of her special Mom Powers.

“Thought we’d do somethin’ diff’rent,” she said after a long, comfortable silence. “I talked t’everybody yesterday an’ most of ‘em are comin’ over for supper t’night. That way, ya don’t gotta fly all over th’planet, playin’ d’livery boy.”

“I like playing delivery boy,” Gohan insisted. He didn’t want her to think he couldn’t handle it! It was good exercise and one of the things he could do that helped him feel less useless. He turned another roll around in his hand before eating it- much slower than the first.

“I mainly figured we could use the comp’ny. ‘Least until your granpappy moves in. I know ya like goin’ out an’ seein’ everyone but hey- we can’t let Bulma have all the parties, now can we!”

“Are you sure you can handle all that? What can I do- how can I help?” He slid out of his chair and moved to stand at the stove with her, on her right side. She grinned down at him, tousling his hair before giving him a shove back towards the table.

“Don’t you worry none. I got alla this under control!”

“There has to be  _something_  I can do, Ma! Does anything need dusted or- or I can run the vacuum! How about laundry- I can get the good dishes out-!”

“Gohan, Gohan,” she laughed. “Don’t worry! Everything’s done! All th’ housework’s finished an’ I got the nice plates cleaned an’ ready last night. Ya just have a nice breakfast an’ then go play- go swimmin’! Gonna be a real pretty day for it!”

He was about to protest again, insist he could find some way to help, but she finally stopped stirring the large pot and turned to find him. ChiChi crouched next to the table, in front of where he was standing, and put her hands on Gohan’s shoulders. They were hot and calloused; he could feel them, even through his shirt. She was at his eye level but both of them knew that wouldn’t last much longer. She smiled at him, the expression happy, but guarded and more than a little tired. He wondered when she’d last slept more than a few hours at a time.

“Gohan, listen t’me, okay? I got everythin’ under control today- I wouldn’ta asked everybody here if I didn’t. But…” She moved her left hand to his upper arm and gave him a squeeze. Her right moved to do the same, but she stopped and dropped it back to his shoulder, very gently tightening her grip there.

“But I  _am_  gonna need yer help, later on. …Come winter an’ into spring… Gohan, I- before you and yer daddy left…” She didn’t seem able to finish her sentences; she trailed off, looked away from him and he could see fresh tears cutting trails down her cheeks. He pulled her into an awkward hug, right arm wrapping around her thin shoulders and patting her back, the way she used to do when he’d woken up from a nightmare.

“You’re gonna have a little brother- or sister.” She spoke the words quickly and into his hair. He didn’t know what to say, so he kept gently patting her on the back. They stayed together, leaning against the table for a while. ChiChi didn’t move as something started to burn but Gohan broke the embrace when one of the pots boiled over. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as she hurried to salvage that part of the meal and Gohan got back in his chair. He picked apart a third and fourth sweet roll, watching his hand unwind each loop of dough.

“We’re gonna be okay, Ma,” he told the fifth sweet roll. The methodical sounds from the stove faltered and he looked up, meeting her eyes and flashing the biggest, most sincere smile his face would allow. “The three of us are gonna be just fine.”


End file.
